


Hello, Mister Operator?

by kaara



Category: Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Gen, surprisingly gen tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaara/pseuds/kaara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marta notices the phone calls a week into Vietnam. (or the reality where Byer is actually helping Cross and they have not!phone sex with half the world in between).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Mister Operator?

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a gif in tumblr (seriously, tumblr, why all the prickly things you throw at me that make me want to verbal vomit). the gif isn't mine. i'm not quite sure how to direct you to it, to be honest. heartfelt apologies, really.

Marta notices the phone calls a week into Vietnam.

They find a lovely house in suburban Ho Chi Minh once they get off the water, shared with two girls who smile too much and talk too little. She goes to a hairdresser and comes back with a shorter do, auburn in place of black. Aaron smiles when he sees her for lunch, the corners of his eyes crinkling and Marta fights back the rush of blood to her cheeks (he reminds her of someone from another place long, long time ago). Aaron orders glass noodles in spicy broth for both of them and they spend their first day walking leisurely around the city, picking up necessities. Marta buys a phrase book. Aaron disappears for ten minutes and comes back with an extra bag. He shows her its contents after dinner, quiet chatters of the Vietnamese girls fluting through the humid silence as they do the dishes. She trails her fingertips over the passports, her picture under foreign names (Alice White in one, Sophie Devereux in another) and Aaron hands her a Baretta.  _Just in case_ , he says. His eyes are quiet, dark and she thinks she sees regret in them. A mobile phone follows the Baretta. Marta spies a similar one between his clasped fingers and when she checks her contact list, it’s empty.

The first call comes a few minutes after midnight. She stirs when Aaron gets out of bed, hushed voice trailing from across the room. She catches a glimpse of him looking out the window, his face moonlit and the set of his shoulder smaller than she remembers. He looks younger. He whispers into the phone, words spun into a lilting lullaby by her drowsy mind and she sinks easily back into sleep, dreams of a solitary log cabin covered in snow. 

The calls persist but there isn’t an immediate pattern. She doesn’t think much about them because she trusts Aaron. His phone will go off during dinners, sometimes breakfasts, just the tiniest of vibration and he will mutter an excuse as he finds the closest space with a door. She tries to ask once, just once. He shakes his head, twirls noodles around his chopsticks and says,  _a contact, don’t worry, doc._

Marta doesn’t tell him she worries. That’s the only thing she can do. It’s only a matter of luck that she catches the end of one of his conversations. 

“Yeah, thanks. I understand.” Aaron nods once, voice tight. “Are you… you’re okay?”

She presses closer to the wall and swallows guilt. She’s a scientist, Marta reminds herself. It’s part of her job description to be curious. She can see the white of his knuckles, how hard he grips the sleek device and wonders if Aaron knows. Whoever he’s speaking to, he cares. She stifles the sudden spike of jealousy and minemine _mine_ , because he isn’t hers. Not really.

“Be careful. I mean it,” he murmurs. He listens for a few seconds and his lips twist into a rueful smile. She marvels at how Aaron’s eyes are gentle and unguarded and realises she has forgotten what it feels like to fall in love. “You’ve done enough for me. You have done enough, Eric.”

Eric.

She tests the name.

_Eric._

Aaron huffs a low laugh at something said at the other line. Marta slips away with her heart lurching uncomfortably in her chest, a name etched to the tip of her tongue. She sits with the girls throughout the afternoon and learns how to stitch, replying in English what they ask in Vietnamese. They hold her hands. Marta tries to remember what the phrase book says about  _thank you_. 

Aaron leans against the door languidly, watches over them and Marta knows that he knows. 

She finds that she doesn’t really mind.


End file.
